The Care and Keeping of Bruce Banner
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: Post hulk-back, Bruce always feels a little raw. Fluffy science bromance; from a prompt on LJ.


Disclaimer: note mine.

Written for a prompt on avengerskink: "Bruce & Tony- Bruce cries. Hard. I've read a lot of great slash h/c for this pairing, but I want something GEN (aka science bros). I have no specific desires for the plot- angsty circumstances are up to author- but basically, I want to see Bruce crying. Hard. Like serious break down. And Tony isn't quite sure how to handle it but stays with him anyway (and maybe some serious hugging?)"

Summary: Post hulk-back, Bruce always feels a little raw.

_The Care and Keeping of Bruce Banner_

Tony's going to write a book someday- okay, a ghost writer is going to write Tony's book someday- and in it, a whole chapter will be dedicated to the care and keeping of Bruce Banner.

Like:

How much teasing cheers Bruce Banner up versus how much gets dangerous...

How to get Bruce Banner to eat when he won't leave the lab (the irony does not escape Tony)...

Or, the latest addition to the knowledge base: what to say to Bruce Banner when you walk into the lab after a pretty intense mission and find him sitting against the wall, crying quietly into his palms like he's just finished the latest Nicholas Sparks.

That one Tony figured out on the fly.

It's well past midnight, not that this means much to Tony, though it does serve to make the whole episode more intense and cinematic and what-not.

Not that there's anything very grand about a grown man in tears. In fact it's rather scary and a little bit disconcerting, which probably shows on Tony's face.

"Sorry," Bruce gasps, the breath crackling through the phlegm in his throat, as he struggles to wipe his face and neck dry.

"Are you hurt?" Tony demands. "What the hell happened?" He's caught between the natural instinct to flee and the somehow-even-more-natural instinct to sit next to Bruce and put an arm around his shoulder.

"Nothing- nothing." Tears are spilling freely down the man's face; he's helpless against them, his swiping knuckles and palms absolutely ineffectual. He sniffs as his nose starts running.

"You keep saying that word," Tony quotes teasingly. "I do not think it means what you think it means." His terrible Spanish accent only barely hides his building panic.

Bruce chuckles wetly, and another onslaught pours down his cheeks. "Really, Tony, n-nothing's wrong. It ha-happens."

This that kind of serious, ridiculous, can't-stop crying, and Tony is completely out of his league here. "It happens," he repeats, dully.

"After the Other Guy leaves. It just- w-wears me down. I dunno. Usually in the day or two after, this happens wuh-once or twice." His smile is business-like, very matter-of-fact, and far far too brave.

"You're always like this after you hulk back?" Tony can't deny that the scientist in him, constantly cataloging Bruce's symptoms, is a little fascinated. He cocks his head slightly and narrows his eyes in sympathy, trying to make it perfectly clear that he's forcing the scientist to take a backseat.

"Not always," Bruce assures him, passing a sleeve across his upper lip as his nose tries to run again. "Sometimes, yeah." He laughs lightly. "Maybe most of the time."

"I've never noticed," Tony breathes, feeling unaccountably _bad_ about it. Bruce shrugs.

"What do you think I do, solicit hugs every time I'm feeling low?"

"What _do_ you do?"

"Usually? Take a shower."

"Take a shower," Tony repeats. There are private things that he rather enjoys doing in the shower; they do not include curling up under the water's spray and weeping alone because a giant green monster just relinquished control of his body.

Bruce shrugs again, smiling like a little kid trying to believe a comforting lie. Dutifully. Brokenly.

"I'll sit with you," Tony blurts. It seems like the right thing to say, the right thing to do, although he's got as much of an instinct for these things as Pepper has for break dancing.

"You don't have to-" Bruce begins, but then Tony does, and he doesn't seem to mind. They are shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip, knee-to-knee and toe-to-toe, and Tony can feel Bruce trembling, hear him sniffing and gulping. He can sense him trying to hold it all back.

Tony's arm coils around Bruce's neck without him actually consciously telling the nerves and muscles to do so. Oh well. His elbow rests on Bruce's shoulder, his palm clapped against Bruce's forehead, where he can feel the stirrings of a fever beginning, or ending.

Bruce breaks down sobbing.

Tony's not quite sure what to say. _It's okay_ is just moronic, not to mention incorrect;_ don't cry_ is unproductive and kind of insulting. And _I'm here_- well, that's just not something Tony's about to whisper soothingly. Ever. Not to anyone, not even his A-Number-One science bro.

So instead Tony mutters, right in Bruce's ear, "you sound like a vomiting bullfrog."

Bruce startles. The laugh he snorts seems to surprise him as much as it surprises Tony.

Encouraged, Tony amends: "no, you know what? You sound like a masturbating goat."

Bruce is shuddering, overcome by mirth and tears, and Tony tugs him closer. He drums his fingers lightly on Bruce's temple.

"Billy Goat's really going for it over there. This gives whole new meaning to that creepy puppet scene in _The Sound of Music_. Jesus Christ, delete your internet history, kid."

The harder Bruce laughs, the harder he cries, until he's nothing more than an hysterical, drippy lump of scientist with his head on Tony's chest. Hot, unsteady breaths flare across the reactor, damp through Tony's t-shirt.

"Oh my god," Bruce moans, then giggles. "I can't s-stop."

"You've got to, Billy," Tony insists, with intense mock sincerity. "You hear that key in the door. You know your roommate's gonna walk in any second."

Okay, so maybe Tony's a little hysterical too- not outwardly, not visibly, but c'mon, can you blame him for the little blaze of panic in his gut? He's seen Bruce lose control. Obviously- it's kind of the guy's trademark. But this is different. It's so much more human, and maybe it's even scarier because of that.

"You are ridi-diculous," Bruce stutters, shaking his head beneath Tony's hand.

"I know," Tony murmurs, fingers creeping up Bruce's forehead, just barely brushing his mess of curls. "I know."

Bruce is just crying now, just flat-out crying, not laughing anymore, not fighting it either. He's got his face buried against Tony's clavicle. Tony's hand cradles Bruce's head as Bruce weeps.

"_I know_," Tony says, once more, because he _does._


End file.
